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Words we couldn't say
to each other
The eyes we have to
turn away from
lest we see too much
and be seen too deeply
Feelings swallowed whole
never chewed or savored
silent echoes
ringing in my center
ringing in my soul
The pathway,
bent around its curve,
no longer gives me glimpses
of what's behind
or what's waiting ahead
I'm lonely,
looking solely
for a place to lay my head
where they both remember
and forget
who I've been
and receive who I am
preparing to remember
and forget
who I will be.
Søren said
the most precious
is that which is
forgotten
So after all
maybe I was
so precious to you
and maybe you to me
since we seem
to have lost each other
and
forgotten so well.
(after viewing the movie "Avalon")
©2005 Steve Eulberg
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I Speak Of Memory
I speak of memory,
to retell from memory
a story that has waited long for recall.
You did not request this recall
nor offer your approval.
Nor do I seek approval,
nor make claim of perfect recollection,
nor accuse yours of imperfection.
I retell this story because I want not to forget,
and because I hope you want to remember.
I know I tell no lie
and make no intentional distortion,
wishing it unnecessary to say so.
As to certainty,
when with it, I strive to be humble;
when without it, I strive to be honest.
Will my retelling be, in places, mistaken?
Likely, yes.
Will I do harm with my truth or my mistake?
Likely, no,
but I admit the risk.
From past retellings
I know that memory does play tricks
but plays no less with you than with me.
And silence is this trickster's favorite play yard.
I hope recollective voice
helps collective memory
among us
who lived
that time.
For you may wish to answer the curious
who were not there then,
or educate the ignorant
who do not care now.
You may wish to speak out from our memory,
or you may prefer to live more fully
within in the fullness of secrets we share.
And so I begin.
And so I end.
I have retold our story.
You have listened.
If you do not remember as I,
I hope you will remember why
I speak.
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